Brothers
by Takada Saiko
Summary: Ali and Mahmoud Hazr story. No one writes about these two lovely brothers. Spoilers in it,of course, and my take on how they might have come to be in each other's company in the Holy Lands for so long. Their story that takes place years before Holmes and
1. Default Chapter

A/N: I do not own Ali or Mahmoud Hazr. They belong, as far as I know, to Laurie R King. I just happen to have a new obsession over Ali, who has caught my interest after the book Justice Hall. This is a fic on how Ali and Mahmoud in their earlier years in Palestine together. I know near to nothing about Middle Eastern culture besides what I've read out of O Jerusalem. Bear with me and please, if you have any insight, do not be slow to tell. Thanks very much

TS

* * *

**Brothers**

**Written by: Takada Saiko**

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_Chapter One_

Alistair Hughenfort looked around him with eyes wide. Palestine was all he could remember it being from his brief time there nearly two years before. He'd been sent to fetch Marsh then and he'd been sent to find his wayward cousin once again, though two years older and – in Alistair's mind – two years wiser. He smiled to himself as he drummed his fingers rapidly against the railing of the small ship. They would dock; he would remove himself quickly and meet Marsh where they had agreed. It was simple, was it not? Nothing was ever simple in the East.

Dock the ship did, and Alistair left as planned. He ran a hand through his naturally dark hair and blinked against the sun. "Beautiful."

"Isn't it?"

The nearly nineteen year old turned to see his cousin standing behind him. Only, it wasn't his cousin. The man that stood behind him that had spoken with Marsh Hughenfort's voice was the same height and same build as Marsh Hughenfort, but his skin was swarthy and hidden behind a dark beard and loose cloth over his head, but the eyes were what gave Alistair his confidence back. A grin spread across the young man's lips as his cousin's name formed on them.

"Ali." That single word stopped him dead. "In this place," he said in hushed tones, "I am Mahmoud Hazr. For the same reason I asked you to stain your face."

Alistair reached to his dyed face, remembering for the first time in a while that it was, in fact, stained much darker than its natural hue. "You failed to tell me the reason for that as well."

"Because here, I am Mahmoud Hazr. The name Hughenfort means nothing amongst the sand."

Alistair nodded. "It is good to see you-" he paused for a moment, thinking and trying to pronounce it just as the other had – "Mahmoud."

"And you, Ali. Come, we must be off."

Alistair followed, his eyes wide with excitement. A deal had been struck with the eccentric Marsh Hughenfort – no, not Marsh, Mahmoud Hazr - when he had longed to return to wherever he might have disappeared to before. Alistair would follow him while on his holiday, spending time with him and making sure he was getting himself into no trouble. Little had Gerald Hughenfort known that his son's best friend and cousin would be just as enchanted by the Holy Lands as the Duke's second son.

Night had begun to fall and Mahmoud ushered his younger cousin into what would have been considered a shack or less than that by any of their family back in England, but to Alistair, it represented the freedom that Mahmoud had promised him.

"Is this home?" the younger man asked in uncertainty.

"The desert is home."

Alistair nodded, taking it all in. "I don't know what to say," he whispered.

"Then say nothing," Mahmoud responded, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "A feat for you, I know."

Alistair began to give an indignant response, but quickly shut his mouth. His dark eyes watched as Mahmoud worked together a small fie and appeared to be making some sort of odd coffee over it, though slower than he'd ever seen.

"I left clothes for you there," the elder man said at last. "You will change into them."

"Of course," Alistair stammered, slightly taken aback by his cousin's commanding voice. He shuffled himself over to the clothes that Mahmoud had indicated and held them up, distaste clear on his clean-shaven features. "They're so dull."

Mahmoud cocked an eyebrow. "You'll draw enough attention to yourself without brightly embroidered colours, Ali. For now, this should suit you."

The younger man groaned rather dramatically. "Marsh…."

Mahmoud was up in an instant, clamping one hand over Alistair's mouth and the other firmly under his chin. While his movements were sudden, there was a sort of calmness that could be sensed. The only reason for his brisk movement had been to catch his quick cousin before he had time to dodge away. "You will NOT call me by that name," he said lowly.

Alistair nodded quickly and watched him as he moved away. He turned quickly to change as Mahmoud bent over the fire and his slow-to-make coffee.

* * *

"Things are different here."

Alistair looked up from where he'd been studying his boots. "Hmm?"

When Mahmoud repeated himself, Alistair realized the reason he had not understood. The words had been spoken in Arabic. Like all good English boys of his stature, Ali had learned Latin as a child and then gone on to learn a language or two more, and when Mahmoud – or had that been Marsh? – returned from the Holy Lands before, he had taught his younger cousin a bit of Arabic, but that had been two years before and he'd used it only very briefly and was far from fluent.

"What did I say to you?" Mahmoud asked in quiet English.

"I'm not entirely sure," Alistair admitted.

Mahmoud repeated it slowly for the younger man and Alistair worked his way through the sentence until he finally came up with the right answer. He'd been with his cousin a week and used what he could to form his brief answer of, "Yes, I had noticed."

"You are only here for your holiday?"

Ah, English, it was so easy on the ears and Alistair had never known it before. "I'm afraid so."

Mahmoud nodded, looking almost disappointed. Almost.

"Will you let me come back on my next break?" Alistair asked hopefully. He did not miss the glint of pleasure in his cousin's eyes.

"You are a grown man, Ali. You may choose what you wish."

"Then I'll come back."

"You have much to learn before you do."

"Then I will," he answered with a confident smile.

Mahmoud did not answer, but looked at him closely. "And what will happen after the next visit?"

"I will go back to England, back to school, and return at the nearest possible moment."

"A week here and you are sure you will return?"

Alistair smiled a bit. "A week here and I am home."

* * *

A/N: There's the first chapter. I hope ya'll like it. I plan for the first couple of years to move fairly quickly to the main plot of this story which is just how they became "brothers" so to speak. Anyway, if you're fan of Ali Hazr, I've got another fic with him in it on my Chase Yuy account. It's a Gundam Wing story, but it has Ali in b/c two characters are in the Middle East. I just had to throw our beloved Arabian cut-throat in on the action :)

Please R&R

TS


	2. ch2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

"What is that?"

Alistair nearly jumped at the sound of Mahmoud's voice behind him. The last he'd seen of his cousin he'd been fueling the fire to start coffee. Had he truly been so absorbed in the letter he read over and over again? He looked towards the elder man as the latter sat next to him. "I got my degree."

"So I'd heard," Mahmoud answered, but his eyes told the younger man he was still expecting an answer for his question.

"Of course you did." The young man folded and unfolded the letter in his hand. It was brief and to the point. "Your father wanted me to come strait back to Justice – or my own home, I suppose, but he said Justice – and said that I was being dragged into all of this."

"Are you?"

"Of my own will," Ali responded with a small smile playing on his lips.

Mahmoud nodded. "You've been traveling back and forth between two worlds for two years now, Ali. You will have to choose."

Ali chuckled. "Your father is afraid I'll leave too, I suppose."

"He raised you for many years."

"Even when my father was alive, I suppose," Alistair mused as he took a tobacco pouch from his robes and began to roll a cigarette. "I did spend more time in Justice Hall than anywhere else."

There was a long silence between the two men as the younger lit the newly made cigarette. Mahmoud let out a low breath of air. "You should return to England."

Ali nearly choked. "What?" he demanded in English, his first words spoken with his cousin in their native language in a year and a half.

"Exactly what I said," Mahmoud said in Arabic. "You know what is like here now."

"The Turks?" Ali asked, almost scoffing at the idea. "I'm not afraid of them."

"I'd rather you go home."

"This is home." He snubbed out the cigarette. "You wouldn't take that, would you?"

"Ali."

Ali stood from his spot, moving away wordlessly. His cousin sighed and watched him. "What do I have to do to prove myself to you?" he demanded at last. "I learned this language. I learned these customs. I've breathed this air and loved this land as much or more than even you do. What do you want from me? What more could there be? I've waited two years to join you permanently. Do you still think I am a child that you have to protect?"

"I want you away from the Turks," Mahmoud said simply. "You travel with one that works with the English government. If I were to ever be discovered by them and you were with me you would be taken as well."

Ali shook his head. "I am twenty-one. Will you hide me away from the danger forever? I want to stay in these lands and if you send me away, I will find a way to stay on my own." With the words lingering in the dry air, the younger man disappeared into their shared tent, leaving Mahmoud to his own thoughts and his coffee.

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The two cousins had fallen into an easy routine over the two years that Ali had been coming to Palestine. Mahmoud would meet him and they would travel for anywhere between two and three weeks before the younger of the two cousins would return, most of the time sulking slightly, to the boat that would return him to England. Mahmoud had promised himself that even if Ali decided he wanted to stay, he would not stand for the boy – young man – putting himself in the danger in which he really did not need to be put in. It was Marsh's fate, not Alistair's. Right?

But Ali was a man now, not the child that he had been only a few years before. He had done all he had said and done in well, leaving the natives with the impression that he had been born and had grown in these lands. No one questioned it.

Mahmoud Hazr stood from the place he had been since Ali had stormed off to the tent. He moved silently and peered in to see the younger man whittling a small animal with the knife he kept around his neck, a practice he had begun some time before on his journeys to Palestine. He spared one glance up before continuing.

"Ali."

Ali sighed before replacing the knife around his neck and setting the small animal down next to where he was sitting. He looked up in acknowledgement.

"We'll break camp now." That was all he said as he let the flap of the tent back down and he turned to begin clearing things away, leaving a very confused Ali there.

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Ali's visits had always been somewhat brief before now. He'd been in Palestine two weeks before he had told Mahmoud that he wished to stay. Normally at that time they would have turned back and spent a week moving towards the place where he'd leave for England, but they started off in a different direction when they moved on.

Mahmoud offered no explanation for his course, Ali did not ask for fear that he might remind his elder cousin that only a few hours before he'd been bent on sending him back to England.

They walked on for three days, barely a word said between the two of them. Pride kept Ali from breaking down and asking for their destination and what they might be doing, and his thoughts kept Mahmoud to himself.

Finally they reached the small town that the elder of the two men seemed to be aiming for. They set up camp with no words exchanged.

Ali had just finished with the tent when a stranger approached. Mahmoud stood abruptly and moved swiftly, embracing the other man as if he had met a long lost brother. They spoke in low tones for a few moments and then Mahmoud made eye contact with his younger cousin, a silent command to come to them.

"Mikhail, this is my younger brother Ali."

"Salaam aleikum," Mikhail greeted with a smile.

Ali stood for a moment, fumbled with the customary response, and then regained a handle on his fleeting control. They took a seat around the fire that had just begun to burn and talked, the youngest man's eyes slightly distant until Mikhail stood and said it was time for him to leave. Someone was waiting for him, though he did not say whom.

"You were silent most of the evening," Mahmoud said after a moment of fiddling with a cigarette.

"You called me brother," Ali blurted, unable to hold it any longer. "Does that mean…?"

His newly proclaimed brother looked at him seriously. There was no mischief hidden behind his dark eyes as there often was. "You are my brother now, no longer a distant cousin. I…wish you to stay here in Palestine. I will send a letter to Mycroft Holmes to-morrow. He is the one we ultimately answer to."

Ali grinned for a moment, and then quickly removed the smile from his lips, even if it did remain in his eyes. He nodded his understanding and his answer, and the two men settled for one more cup of Turkish coffee.

* * *

Oneiriad: Thank you for your review!

OpheliaRussell: Yes, got to love the Hazr brothers, or cousins… After finishing reading Justice Hall, I went back and started rereading O Jerusalem so that I'd get all my details right, but it's funny to know who they really are while reading it with them still "Arabian cut throats". Hopefully I'll still keep them in character. Thanks for the review :)


	3. ch3

**Chapter Three**

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Ali woke slowly the next morning. He turned on his side to notice that Mahmoud had risen, as was his habit. He slowly sat up and stretched.

Light became more evident as Mahmoud opened the tent's flap, allowing he morning's rays to flow in with a vengeance. Ali blinked twice and finally focused.

"Up," was all that his brother said as he turned to move hurriedly around the campsite.

Ali followed him out of the tent. "The dew hasn't even left the ground."

"It does not matter on this morning."

They scurried around the camp, picking things up and tying them into their places on the donkey that they led along. They had just finished when two men – Turks – approached them. Mahmoud motioned for Ali to busy himself with the last minute packing and he stepped forward.

"You two," the first Turk said. "We are looking for someone."

"I am afraid that I know few people in this region," Mahmoud answered.

"You appear in a hurry to leave."

"We are travelers. We are always in a hurry to be on our way."

The Turk frowned at this. "We are looking to a traitor to our government."

Mahmoud paused, giving the man an even look that betrayed no emotion. "I know of none."

"We have no name for this man," he paused, "yet. We will soon. If you see him, tell him to beware, won't you? He won't stand up us long. His British government he has sold us out to will not win if they come against us."

"Of course not," Mahmoud answered.

"My companion says he's seen you in this town before."

"I make regular rounds."

"But the young man that travels with you was never with you before."

Mahmoud stared at him for a moment, waiting for any further comment. The Turkish soldier became agitated when he received no answer. He turned in a slight huff and walked back towards the town, leaving the Hazr brothers alone.

Ali approached quietly. "Mahmoud?"

"Quiet. Everything has ears to hear," he said in a low voice. "Come, we must leave."

* * *

They traveled all day, but never in a strait line. By the time that the day was winding down, they had not gone far from the town they had left earlier that morning. Ali sighed as he squatted down in the sand and started piling sticks together for a fire. Mahmoud knelt next to him.

"I suppose you'll tell me why we didn't go far?" Ali asked hopefully.

"We will be going back in the night."

The younger man gave the elder a questioning look. "Why would we do that?"

Mahmoud looked about them, as he had been doing he entire day. The land lay out flat around them with nowhere for a soul to hide unless he buried himself beneath the sand, which he thought highly unlikely. "You did not hear what they said this morning?"

"Bits and pieces."

"Ah. They are becoming suspicious of me."

Mahmoud was sure he saw a spark of excitement in Ali's eyes. "And we are to take care of that?"

"We are to question them to see what they know. We may have to dispose of them. You will be able to go through with it?"

Ali nodded, the gleam staying in his eyes. "I've been raised in England, but that doesn't mean I can't kill someone."

"Good," Mahmoud answered as he pulled a small, wrapped object out of the packs. "Take this."

Ali reached out to take the package and unwrapped it without a word. When the cloth fell away it revealed a long, beautiful dagger. His eyes grew wide and he ran his hand over it. "Beautiful," he murmured.

"Good. Let us go."

* * *

The two Turkish soldiers that had come up to Mahmoud were staying in a small (by English standards, but by no means small by the town's standards) house in the town they had left that morning. When the Hazr brothers approached it, it was completely dark, the two men either gone or asleep. They prayed it would be the latter.

Mahmoud worked his way into the house as silent as could be, easing himself equally as quiet down the passage from the main room to a small room at the end. The other room was directly across form it. They made sure one of the soldiers – the one that had stayed so silent behind that morning – was good and out with a dose of chloroform before they entered the second room.

Ali had his hand over the second soldier's mouth before he had time to holler out, not that it would have done him any good. Mahmoud was over him from the other side of the bed. "It would be wise to be silent," he said from behind his robes and headdress that did well to cover his face. "It would also be wise to tell us what you know of your traitor that you spoke of this morning to the man who wanders."

The Turk struggled and Ali flashed his new knife from its holder and to the man's throat. "Listen to my brother," he growled.

"I know nothing," the Turk managed once the hand was removed. His voice was high and frightened next to the low voices of the intruders. "I know nothing other than he gives information to the British and has many men in Palestine that help him. I know nothing of his name or his face. In all honesty, I swear it upon everything!"

"And we believe that?" Ali hissed as the knife drew the slightest amount of blood. He had to hold it back to keep the squirming man from splitting open his own throat on the blade. He did little good to them dead.

"I swear it!" he yelled, too loud for either of the brothers' liking.

"What is all this?" a new voice demanded from the doorway.

Ali and Mahmoud whirled around to see a third man standing there, eyes blazing with fury.

"I thought you said there were only two," Ali said quietly.

"I was mistaken."

* * *

BlackMoon13: Thanks very much. Did you mean the Holmes Family story? I went back and finished that today :) 


	4. ch4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

"Look at what we have," the new Turk said. "Looks like you finally decided to show your face." He had a gun pulled from his belt – from his appearance he'd just come in off the streets – and had it trained on Mahmoud. "Drop your knife," he directed at Ali.

The younger man glared with all intensity. He heard the man that he had been holding down move behind him and turned just in time to see the Turk's dagger coming at him. He moved as quickly as he could but could not avoid the blade biting deeply into his left arm. He growled out a low stream of curses.

"I said to drop it," the leader said, his eyes hard. "Then uncover your faces."

Ali risked a quick glance at his brother, eyes speaking what words could not. Mahmoud gave the briefest of nods and a new knife dropped to the floor. The Turk behind Ali chuckled as he stood and grasped him by the arm, digging his fingers into the freely bleeding wound.

"Hasad."

Hasad, as his name seemed to be, let go of Ali's arm after giving another painful tug to it. "Acar, what shall we do with them?"

Acar gave an evil smirk as he moved forward and tugged Mahmoud's still-in-place garment that wrapped his face from the wandering eye. "Mahmoud Hazr, I believe is the name."

When Mahmoud gave him no response other than to raise his chin a bit higher, Acar backhanded him. He saw Ali lunge at him from the corner of his eye and started backwards. Their eyes met briefly, startled black eyes meeting enraged deep brown ones, a moment of understanding also passing. Ali would not sit passively if this man were to try to harm his elder brother. He would much rather die.

It was in an instant that Ali had dropped the man's gaze and dropped himself to the floor, scooping up his knife. As Hasad came at him, trying to keep his prisoner under some form of control, he lashed out, drawing blood and sending the Turk stumbling back against his bed and falling to the floor with a loud groan, and then there was no more from him.

Mahmoud moved quickly, but Acar was quicker. The Turk dashed down the hall, leaving his companion to bleed to death in his own room. Ali started to move past his brother, who had stopped in the doorway. Mahmoud stopped him. "No."

"But we can-" One glare from Mahmoud cut his statement off as his shoulders sagged slightly. "Then what?"

"We leave. We do not come back to this village."

"We run?" Ali demanded.

"We use our better judgment. Come. We must wrap your arm and be on our way."

Ali looked down at his blood soaked arm and growled another set of curses as he followed his brother down the hall and out of the house.

* * *

"He knows who we are."

Mahmoud looked up from where he knelt on the ground, bandaging Ali's wound. "Yes."

Ali looked ready to burst. "There has to be something we can do about it."

"One man out of many."

"But he'll set them all out after us."

"Think, Ali," Mahmoud stated sternly as he tightened the wrap and gained a hiss of pain from the younger man. "Have you heard his name before?"

"It's common enough."

"But you do not know who he is?"

Ali thought a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Acar is very highly ranked, and has been after me nearly since Mycroft Holmes hired me into his service. He will not send men after us who are not directly under him because he wants the reward for our capture. This is pride, Ali. He will come after us personally."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because he has been after me for years."

Ali nodded slowly.

"And now he is after you."

The younger man shrugged. "Maalesh," he answered easily.

Mahmoud shook his head. "One concept you have easily understood since the day you came."

Ali flashed a grin and stood. "We were to be off?"

The elder man sighed and stood. "We are to be off."

* * *

"He knows you?"

"Yes."

Ali crept towards awareness the next morning much slower than he usually did. The warm air had seeped into the tent and left him perfectly comfortable.

"And your brother was injured?"

"Not badly."

"But you fear for the next time."

The silence caught Ali's ears more than the words. He sat up slowly, stretched, and moved out of the tent. Mikhail the Druse was sitting with Mahmoud next to the fire with coffee in its slow process. Both men looked over at the sound of the tent flap opening. "Salaam aleikum," Mikhail greeted.

"Aleikum es-salaam," Ali answered.

Mikhail turned back to the elder brother. "You two will need to move quickly."

"Yes, we had planned on it."

"Are you well enough to move quickly?" Mikhail asked Ali, motioning to his arm that was held awkwardly with the pain.

The younger man looked near to insulted, biting his tongue. "I'm well enough," he grumbled.

Mikhail smiled a bit and placed a hand on Mahmoud's broad shoulder. "You should not fear for your brother. He is brave and wisdom will come from years with you."

Mahmoud managed a small smile of his own and nodded. "Thank you, my friend."

"You should both leave. The Turks will by after you as soon as possible. The English will not protect us yet. We are all expendable."

"Soon, Mikhail."

The other man grinned widely. "Very soon."

As he watched Mikhail the Druse walk away, Ali turned to his brother. "What is 'soon'?"

"Freedom from the Turks."

* * *

Please R&R. I need a 100 sollution of reviews to feed my addiction.

TS


	5. ch5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Ali Hazr shifted his weight slightly from his spot crouched on the ground, watching his brother closely. The coffee was near to ready to be had and he was far beyond ready for it. They had pushed themselves beyond their limits the last several weeks. No, Ali reminded himself silently, if he were truly honest, they had been pushing it harder than usual the past year. The Turks were closing in on them. They had been closing in for the past several years. Since their return from Mahmoud's – Marsh's – sister's wedding. True, they'd taken all precautions to keep their identities safely tucked away and had carefully made their way to England for it, and he was sure that _that_ wasn't an issue at the present time.

"Something is weighing on you."

Ali looked up, startled only slightly. He shrugged. "Acar has not forgotten us."

"And we have not forgotten him."

"I know you've seen him."

"I have."

The younger Hazr brother let out an agitated snort. "We need to take care of it," he grumbled as he pulled a knife from around his neck and wood from a bag, preparing it for a carving.

Mahmoud seemed amused at his younger brother's flare of temper. "How long has it been now?"

"That he's chased us down like dogs? Nearing to thirteen years, off and on."

"It's been a good chase. He's been patient with us."

"He's been coming too close."

Mahmoud nodded. "I must agree there. He's been far too close lately."

Ali waited for any more – he was hoping for a solution and received none – and finally sighed in defeat, his patience wearing thin. "Perhaps we should throw him off the trail? Will we continue on our path as usual?"

"You suggest missing Farash and his father's town? Surely not. Ali, patience is needed in these situations."

"I've had years of patience." He hushed his tone, even though there was no one in sight for miles. "I thought perhaps when we went England that he might forget us."

Mahmoud raised an eyebrow. "You wished for too much, brother."

"Perhaps, but it would have been nice."

"Maalesh."

Ali sighed, but then cracked a grin at long last. "Maalesh," he agreed.

* * *

The noise that awoke the younger of the Hazr brothers was not one he was accustomed to. If he had heard a donkey from outside the tent moving or the wind rustling the sand about the tent, he would have thought nothing of it, but quiet murmuring was not something often heard in the desert where few people ventured.

"Mahmoud?" he whispered, reaching for his knife. He looked to where his brother slept, finding the bed-role strangely vacant. He moved to the opening of the tent, gazing around in the darkness. Two shapes were evident, one of his brother, and one of another man whom he could not place in the dim light.

Mahmoud turned to see his brother making his way out of the tent. He said another word to the man with him and they parted. "Clear the camp."

Ali did not argue as he stooped to begin to do as he was told. His mind told him that it was not even daybreak. Were they fools to pull together goat-skin tents while still overly damp from the cold night? No, Mahmoud had reasons for doing what he did. He gathered things quickly.

"We will make it to the village before sunrise," the elder brother stated.

The younger nodded, hauling a pack on their mule. "Who was that?" he asked at last.

"Quiet," Mahmoud said lowly. "Everything has ears to hear. Even out here. Especially out here. Come."

* * *

They were nearing the village when it hit. Several Turks that were certainly employed by Acar. He'd found them. After all the years of hits and just barely misses, he'd found the Hazr brothers and they had no place to run. They had been overrun.

"You've gotten quite good, young one," Acar said with a laugh, looking over Ali. The younger man stood with his head held high, crimson-stained knife in hand.

"The next swipe is yours," Ali hissed.

"Ali! Behind you!" Mahmoud's voice reached the younger brother's ears.

Ali turned just in time to feel the butt of the gun cut across his skull, sending him falling to the ground. He groaned loudly, his eyes trying to focus. He saw someone do near to the same to Mahmoud, but he went limp when he fell. (_Your hard head served you well enough this time, _something inside of him chided.) He finally brought two dark coloured eyes up to Acar who loomed over him. "You'll understand if I don't find you quite as important as your brother," he said as he held a gun aimed at the young man. "You've been in this business for a while now, but not nearly as long as Mahmoud. That, and somehow, I don't find you quite as sharp as the elder Hazr. You've outlived any usefulness."

"Leave him!" That had been Mahmoud. He was conscious again, obviously.

Acar smirked. "Too bad for you," he said lowly, putting pressure on the trigger.

The gun sounded in the desert outside the small village. Its user turned on his heal. "He'll be dead soon enough," he assured the men with him and motioned to the blood quickly spreading across Ali's limp form. He smirked at Mahmoud. "He was so eager to help, too," he said in low English, and they hauled Mahmoud away.

* * *

A/N:It was ultra short, and for that I apologize! I have very little time for writing in between school and scholarships. It's been crazy. Oh, and for those that are still confused (just because it all makes since in my mind certainly does not mean – and usually means it does not – it will make since to you) I've skipped several years. I may go back later with short oneshots and fill in the thirteen years I managed to just skip. Wouldn't life be interesting if we could do that?

T: Thank you so much for your lovely compliment!


	6. ch6

**Chapter Six**

Reality came slowly to him and with reality and wakefulness came the rushing sensation of pain. Pain that radiated from his rib cage and from the side of his head. Best to check the head first, he thought as he reached for it. A bandage was wrapped tightly around it and he moaned as his hand fell limply by his side once more.

"Then you're awake, are you?" a familiar voice sounded in his ears.

"Mikhail."

"Yes yes," the Druse answered. As he leaned into the small light set by Ali's bed, the younger man could see his sad expression. "I thought I had gotten the warning to the two of you in time."

"The warning? You knew?"

"I did, but not soon enough, it should seem."

Ali's memory seemed to be making a painful return. Ever so slowly he pieced it together. They'd been hurrying toward Farash's village and had stopped for the night. A shape of a man – Mikhail – and the hurried clean up of the camp. They'd almost made it when the Turks attacked. The young man groaned as he remembered the sound of the gun firing right in front of him and the burning sensation that the bullet passing through him had left, and the intense pain that had followed the cracking sound which he was sure had been a rib snapping.

"Ali?"

He waved off the concern of his brother's close friend, then his eyes shot open. "Mahmoud."

"Taken."

"Taken?" Ali demanded.

"By the Turks."

"Then we will go after him," the wounded man declared as he began to sit up, trying as best he could to ignore the searing pain that raced up and down his side. His body protested mightily against the movement and Mikhail protested almost as loudly.

"No, you must lie back."

"I will do Mahmoud no good lying in bed. I must go after him,"

"You'll do your brother no good dead," Mikhail said sternly.

"Then what?"

"Then you have patience."

Ali snorted, not really meaning too but not really caring. "I can't… just stay here. I have to go to him. How long have I lost?"

Mikhail turned his eyes downward. "It has been several hours yet. We did send spies out for him."

The younger man shifted his weight to one side, half rolling to a sitting position very slowly. He grit his teeth to keep from crying out. "What news did they return with?"

"None yet."

"I will wait one hour more for their return. Nothing more." He would need no less than an hour to make sure he could get himself to his feet and make sure he could walk. He was sure that he'd be much slower than he would ever care to admit, but Mikhail did not know that. He glanced to the table to see his beautiful knife. "I will not leave him for the Turks."

"None of us would."

"I know."

"I will leave you to collect yourself," Mikhail said as he turned to leave. "Then we will go after your brother."

Ali's eyes widened slightly. "We?"

There was a twinkle in Mikhail's dark eyes as he turned to glance at the younger man. "Of course. Be ready in your hour."

-

A/N: I know that is very, very short, and I am sorry, but I have very little time and I'm also working on a fic for the TV show Numb3rs. Really good show! I suggest it to all! Even a non-math person like me can appreciate and become addicted to it. Anyway, I'll try to sit back and write short chapters for this when I can.

Ophelia Russell: Ah! I was so happy when all of your reviews came in! You don't know how happy it makes me to pull up hotmail and have all those emails in my inbox :) I know I tend to write a lot of dialog, and I'm sorry. I'm going to just pretend it's on purpose and say I've learned it from Jane Austin and Pride and Prejudice. It makes me sound like I've meant to do it lol. You did like how I passed time? Oh that's good! I was a bit worried about passing some-odd years so quickly there. Actually, the marriage I was talking about was Phillida and Darling's marriage (I've blanked out on his first name, never did like him). I'm real big on getting time lines correct, and according to what I've read Marsh and Iris were married that year that he spent back in England (I'm pretty sure, if I remember what I worked out… Really should have written all that down…) Ah yes, dramatic endings to chapters are fun. Hence the reason I'm scurrying off to write another chapter for my Numb3rs fic, b/c I ended it dramatically and had demands on that one too. But I thought I'd update this one first :)


	7. ch7

**Chapter Seven

* * *

**

Ali steadied himself against the wall, the room spinning only slightly less than it had been earlier. His dark eyes focused on the door as the soft knock came from it and Mikhail slipped in. The elder man seemed to look over the younger with a critical eye.

"They found something?" Ali asked at last, unable to contain his welling curiosity. If the spies _had_ found something, it would make their job that night so much easier.

"How do you feel?"

"If you do not answer I will go out myself," the younger man growled.

"They've found him."

"Where?" He could not hide the anxiousness from his exhausted voice.

"A villa. About two hours travel if taken by quick horses."

"Then we'll leave now."

"Ali, your brother would never forgive me if I allowed something to happen to you."

Ali stopped as he was moving past his brother's good friend, his dark eyes burning. "I will not stay behind while the Turks torture my brother to death. He will not speak for them and they will kill him if we do not hurry."

Mikhail looked down at his dusty boots. "No man can hold out forever."

"Mahmoud would not tell them anything!" Ali growled harshly. "He is not just any man."

* * *

They'd left without another word between them, taking the quickest horses the village could provide. Ali remembered little of the two hours it took to get there. He vaguely remembered that his horse, while quick on his feet, was easily spooked and had tried to throw him not once, not twice, but three times on the journey. He'd succeeded only once.

Ali did not remember the grandeur of the hellhole that they came upon. It was amazingly tall with walls all around it and a beauty that was not often found in the desert. He did not remember how they got past the guards or how his knife had grown so dark with blood. He only remembered Mahmoud and the first sight of his brother.

Mahmoud Hazr was chained to the wall of a small room, only a single candle burning in the corner lit his face which was half turned to the wall. His entire body was bruised, turning an ugly shade of blue and purple. His hands were limp in the chains, one finger on his left hand at an odd angle that made Ali cringe at the sight. His shoulder looked as if it had been painfully jerked out of its socket and the bruising proved more than one rib to be cracked or broken.

Mikhail swallowed a gasp of horror. "Hurry," was all he could say and motioned for Ali to move to his brother.

"Mahmoud?"

A set of chocolate coloured eyes fluttered open slowly and the elder of the brothers looked up. "Ali…?" he murmured, still not turning.

A smile tugged the other's lips, though it be one of worry. "Yes. You look terrible, you know that?"

"I feel terrible."

Ali knelt by his elder brother, slipping a stolen key into the chains and easing the other from them. Mahmoud groaned softly as he fell from them, limp in his grasp. "Mahmoud?"

The elder man finally turned to look at his rescuer and Ali saw the jagged gash down the left side of his face that had his eye swollen nearly shut and blood soaking the dark skin. The headstrong man felt himself shudder and pull his brother to him protectively, vowing quietly to kill whoever was responsible. Not one of them would flee. Not on this night.

"Ali…no," Mahmoud commanded quietly. "You must not… I…thought I'd lost you… You will not…" He was gasping between his words and Mikhail helped Ali pull him up and to his feet between them.

"Leaving so soon, the three of you?" Acar's taunting voice echoed behind them. He stepped from the shadows and a smirk was on his face. In his hand was a pistol. "Look at you! You are a persistent one, are you not? From what I hear, it runs in your family's bloodline."

Ali turned to Mikhail, a silent request in his eyes before the latter took Mahmoud's full weight. The younger Hazr brother turned to the Turk who had chased them relentlessly. "Be thankful that I do not have the time to kill you properly," he growled.

"To kill me properly!" Acar mocked. "Yes, you might try."

"Go on, Mikhail," Ali said sternly, leaving no room for debate. He watched the retreat wordlessly and then turned back to find the Turk smiling horribly.

"I know more than you'd expect," he said as if picking up a friendly conversation. "Though not from your dear brother. He was rather tight-lipped about your affairs. Oh well… The next session would have broken him."

"You know nothing of my brother."

"I know he is an Englishman," Acar said confidently, waiting for a reaction from the younger Hazr. He frowned when he received none. "And you as well, is that wrong?"

"Very."

"Not a good Christian Englishman?" the Turk asked mockingly.

Ali shrugged. "I've never been a good anything, much less that." There was no warning by his movements or forewarning by his eyes. The slightly smaller man had launched himself at Acar before either knew what was going on and the Turk was against the wall with a knife against his throat, blood seeping in a thin line. "I hate you."

"I'm sure you do."

"I will kill you."

"Yes, but you hear them as well, don't you? I'm no fool, Ali Hazr. My men are coming and if you don't leave this instant no one will get out alive. Not you. Not your elder brother. Not your foolish friend Mikhail the Druse. I am no fool."

Ali gritted his teeth together and was gone in a flash of swirling colours, leaving Acar watching him with a smirk upon his features. "You'll not be rid of me for good," he murmured to himself.

* * *

Violet Russell: You changed your name! I looked on this and was very confused at first. Hope I did alright in this chapter! Thanks for reviewing so faithfully!

Estriel: I don't know how I do them well b/c I'm always frightened half out of my wits when I start a new fandom that I won't get them in character. Lol… So no real tips, terribly sorry! Thank you for reviewing

Kerowyn: Thank you for the spelling help. I'm a horrible speller… Spell check is my friend and it failed me that once. :sigh:

AnnaMaxwell: I know you're reading this! _REVIEW, ANNA-CHAN _:P

HOPE IT WASN'T TOO SHORT!


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